Horizons
by bravewolf
Summary: The immediate aftermath of Seungri's sex scandal. A look into Seungri's mind as he catches up with the others in Singapore. Jiyong has always been there to catch him in the past, but what about this time? Is this the end of innocence?
1. Prelude

Prelude

This story is based on the recent events surrounding Seungri of Big Bang. Around late September 2012 some mobile phone photos of him sleeping in the nude were leaked to the Japanese press. The woman behind it claimed he had simply thrown a towel in her direction after doing the dirty and hadn't kissed her once.

A week or so later Seungri was photographed on the streets of Tokyo. He appeared to be on the receiving end of some flirty attention from his drunken co-star.

The headlines screamed. What is the world coming to? Strings of women! Binders, even! The innocent maknae isn't quite so innocent after all!

The K-pop fans however, didn't give a shit. Hey, you play with matches, you get burned. Besides, they said, the woman's actions tell us far more about her own personality than Seungri's. Selling pictures of famous conquests to the press? She's clearly a classy dame!

It all blew over in a matter of days. From what I can tell, it has had absolutely no effect on Seungri's career. But there was a brief moment of uncertainty, public scoldings from the bandmates and all. This story is an attempt to explore those unsteady days.

I will also point out that there is no slash in this story. Instead, I went for a theme of bonds and brotherhood.

Some dates and times may not be accurate, but I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Also, I personally don't give a stuff about scandals in general. And until I started writing this story, I didn't particularly care for Seungri either. At least, in my mind, I can try to understand him a little better now.


	2. Horizons

The falling rain casts a somber gloom over the ever-changing Roppongi skyline, causing entire buildings to vanish into the mist. The pallid late afternoon light is the only source of illumination in the hotel room – Seungri has opted to keep the lights off for now. Water runs in deep rivulets down the window, casting swirling patterns on the opposite wall. The room is extravagant even by YG standards, ultra-modern and decorated in a stark monochrome. Looking around, one would have the impression that the entire world has been robbed of color.

Seungri stands over the bed, folding articles of clothing into orderly piles. A sudden flash briefly brightens the room for a split second. A crash of thunder. Seungri turns toward the window. Typhoon season in Japan.

Filming is finished. It's his last evening in Japan before he catches up with the others in Singapore later. Seungri's gaze lingers on the window. How he loves this city, this country. His once–in-a-while trips here have become increasingly long lately, his knowledge of the culture and customs rapidly expanding beyond that of a simple visitor. His existence has become increasingly dual, and he finds himself repeating the same stories on Japanese talk shows as the ones he tells in Korea. Only over here, it is isn't Daesung or Seunghyun or Taeyang or even Jiyong they ask about – it's his experiences they express interest in, his life story, his background. They flirt with him and hanker after titbits of his private life, sending his ego into overdrive. Over here he is his own man. This is his domain.

It is too quiet. He crosses over to the vast flatscreen and fumbles with the remote. He flicks through the channels and automatically sets it to a celebrity gossip program. With a smirk Seungri realizes that he can catch everything the presenter is saying. His Japanese has come a long way.

He resumes his packing, humming as he carries out the menial task. As he stuffs a pair of socks into his hold-all, he idly wonders what time his manager-hyung will come to get him.

A vibration from the bed. He locates his smartphone behind a cushion and opens up the message.

Sept 27, 2012 17:11

_RiRi-kun, have a safe flight_

_A xxx_

Seungri snorts and drops the phone back down onto the sheets. At first he had thought his co-star was sexy, but it hadn't taken him long to catch that familiar whiff of desperation that so plagued the women in his immediate circles. The karaoke session with her had been fun last week, and the way their thighs had rubbed together had been erotic, but all that was spoiled once they were out in the street and Anna had started pawing at him for the world to see (and a few paparazzi too, as it turned out). He wrinkles his nose at the memory of her shochu breath, and how he had been tempted to shove her away. He had retained some common sense and wisely opted for a discreet turn of his head instead. As far as he is concerned, her model good looks are cancelled out by her clingy neediness. He supposes that she believes her forwardness is empowering, in some fem-power sort of way.

He prefers to take the lead in such matters.

He stretches and looks at his watch. He estimates he has about thirty minutes before his manager will come for him. He's craving a coffee like crazy, and he knows that his favorite chain in Japan, Segafredo, has a small shop just on the corner.

As he finishes putting on his jacket, he hears the presenter use his name. As he shifts his gaze, an increasingly familiar image flashes onto the screen.

His eyes are closed and his lips are pulled back slightly, exposing his teeth. His torso is bare. The grainy picture is framed in such a way that a plant in the background appears to be a bizarre extension of him, jutting out of his neck in a ridiculous spray. The whole photograph is a grotesque blur of white walls and sheets, black smudges of eyebrows and shadows. But the most terrifying thing about the picture is just how vulnerable he is. This isn't a glossy concert promo. This isn't a music video still. It isn't even a fancam of snatched airport glimpses. This is Seungri sleeping, naked and blissfully unaware that a camera is on him. This is the work of someone with something wrong with them, someone armed with a low quality keitai denwa, eager to gain fame, popularity, a quick buck.

_Slut_.

The image is only up for a couple of seconds but it is enough to dissipate his good mood. He goes over to the window and glowers at Tokyo in fickle accusation.

All this is new to him. The word 'scandal' never used to mean any more to him than the word 'ejaculation' did when he was four years old. He wasn't prepared for this. He doesn't know how to deal with irate calls from his manager hyung at 3am, demanding to know why he was out canoodling with models less than a week after a sex story. He thinks he ought to be indignant, to say that he is an adult now and can screw anyone he wants. But he isn't really sure if he is an adult yet, not really anyway.

He presses his forehead against the glass and closes his eyes.

He remembers an occasion a couple of years before, when he and Jiyong had shared a suite in Tokyo. How President Yang had barged in with a camera crew and demanded that the maknae bring him a glass of water while he and Jiyong discussed Important Things. How he had felt until the president had caught his eye and tipped him a mischievous wink. How he had finally succeeded in enticing the cameras into his room, promising spectacular views of the Tokyo Tower, of which not a trace could be seen.

He had enjoyed those first few days in Tokyo. He lets his memories drift. Big Seunghyun prancing around in his ridiculous crab hat. Quiet morning coffees in Youngbae's room. Bumping into Daesung in the corridor outside their rooms and screaming infantile profanities through the walls.

Now hotel rooms aren't for hanging out with your hyungs. They're for fucking in.

He is sure all of this will blow over. His fans are in the millions and his popularity is sound. No one will care about the drunken model in a week or so. But the other…

A twist of agitation works its way through his stomach and moves downward. His hands curl, itching to wrap around something. A pole. A baseball bat. A throat.

A flash of memory. His cock twitches. He shakes the thought away.

Now he has a perfect view of the Tokyo Tower, but this time he isn't inviting the cameras in to see it.

Seungri sits in the private departure lounge, an overpriced mocha at his elbow. His laptop is open in front of him.

"…will make sure it never happens again," Youngbae has his shades on indoors. Showbiz mode. Beside him, Jiyong noiselessly gets down on his knees, arms raised as if in surrender. He seems more preoccupied with his own performance than the words being said.

Ever the optimist, Daesung pipes up. "Shall we finish this by saying 'Seungri-ya, we miss you. We love you?'"

Youngbae's features remain grim. "I can't actually say I love him right now. I think he needs more time to reflect on his actions."

Jiyong clears his throat, tugs his beanie down lower. "Seungri, I don't love you yet either but I will love you and miss you. Fighting."

Seungri closes his laptop.

_Fuck you_.

The plane is delayed because of the weather. From his window seat Seungri can see the scurrying ground control crew, wielding clipboards and waving little neon signs at each other. Now and then aberrantly shaped vehicles career past, their lights reflecting off the slick tarmac.

His small entourage is seated up ahead, discussing schedules and rendezvous points. Normally Seungri would be up there too, offering useless advice on shortcuts and detours. After his bandmates' public chastising on the Naver website, however, he is in no mood to talk. His seething has won him an empty neighboring seat.

A couple behind him are talking too loudly. A sharp wave of rage washes over him. What was it all about, anyway? Does he not work as hard as the rest of them? Hell, even harder? He's opened dance academies across the country. He appears on TV far more than all the others combined. He worked his butt off to get into the group, down to the speech he gave Yang, imploring him for a chance. He loves it, he loves the life of it, loves all of them. Big Bang is his entire existence, his reason for being.

It is the wording that hurts him more than anything else. _I don't love you yet._

What does that "yet" mean, exactly? Does that mean Jiyong will only love him once he has undergone some public moral transformation? Is he meant to repent, like a sinner in a church? How shallow. How infuriating.

He can understand such talk from Youngbae. When they had first started out, Seungri could tell they might not become particularly close. He had privately considered him a boring bible basher, a quiet boy who never joined in the racier conversations in the dorm. The mere mention of the finer points of female anatomy would reduce Youngbae to blushes and shy smiles, his eyes cast downwards. Seungri knows that Youngbae is probably embarrassed, even ashamed of the maknae's antics.

But Jiyong is a different case altogether. He and Jiyong had recognized a kinship in each other almost immediately. They kept finding small parallels between themselves, from the brands they wore to their work ethics. They both sing and dance with the same desperate fervor, as if the slightest drop in effort will sign away their dreams forever. Sure, Daesung loves singing and Seunghyun has always been interested in rap, but Seungri can imagine them being perfectly happy doing something else. Jiyong and he, though, they were born to do this. There was never a question of something else. This is it. They are their performances. They can't stop and they won't, not unless their limbs are cut off, their vocal chords ripped out of their throats.

In other words, they are cut from the same cloth. It is unthinkable that Jiyong would fail to recognize that now.

As the plane inches forward, he is aware that he is grinding his teeth.

_The New Zealand air is cold and bites at Seungri's cheeks. Grateful for his ear- muffs, he surreptitiously wipes at his streaming nose with a gloved fist and breathes deeply. He doesn't have much experience of snow and is excited. He tries to point his camcorder in all directions at once, trying to capture everything – the sparse patches of sun on the surrounding grey mountains, the river below, his bandmates, multi-colored in their North Face apparel. Voices crackle faintly over radios and a helicopter circles overhead. The atmosphere is more akin to that of a military operation than a commercial shoot. It is new and exhilarating and he feels younger now than he has done for a long time._

_He sets the camera down so he can take in the surroundings unfettered. Behind him, Daesung is making a snow angel, yelling out in shock as big Seunghyun dumps a handful of snow on his face. Youngbae flops down on top of him, smothering snow all over Daesung's chest. Daesung's smiles come easier these days, and his car accident is becoming no more than a dark cloud in their memory. He no longer considers himself a murderer._

_Seungri totters over to the edge of the precipice they're filming on, getting down on all fours and crawling the final few yards until his eyes are directly over the overhang. He cannot see all the way to the bottom. Below, sharp jagged rocks jut out of their mountain at alarming angles. If the earth had teeth, he must surely be looking at them now, grinning up at him and daring him to come a little closer. He presses his nose into the snow and tries to flatten himself further into the ground._

_There is a warmth at his side and a flash of yellow. Jiyong crouches down beside him and gazes down into the depths. "It's high," he says, a little too loudly over the wind. Seungri gives a half smile in reply. _

_They stay like that for a moment, Seungri hugging the ground and Jiyong on his haunches, looking into the depths below. The wind continues to howl around them._

"_You won't fall, you know. They say they're putting nets up all on this side," says Jiyong, his voice better adjusted this time, his breath warm in Seungri's ear. _

"_It's okay," mutters Seungri. "I've been on mountains before, you know." _

_Jiyong doesn't say anything for a long time. When Seungri looks up at him, Jiyong appears lost in though, his eyes on the horizon. It is possible that he didn't even hear him. Seungri is struck by how much older Jiyong looks at this moment. There are lines and contours Seungri hasn't seen before, as if the whiteness of the snow has revealed the true Jiyong. He looks wise, and also a little sad, like a lion surveying its kingdom in a zoo cage. Whether he is thinking about the future or the past, Seungri can't be sure. A sudden warmth washes over him. He smiles up at his hyung._

_Jiyong's eyes meets his and he snaps out of his revelry, youth returning to his face in an instant. "You'll be alright," he says, placing an affectionate hand on Seungri's arm._

_When they return to the group big Seunghyun is feasting on handfuls of snow, bellowing in mock pleasure and spitting it in Daesung's face. Seungri resumes filming, the handheld camera shaking in time to his laughter. Youngbae gets in on the act and slurps snow like ice cream. They are all laughing, young, free from life's complexities. They are in their moment._

_Halfway through the shoot Seungri's ankle gives way on a rocky patch of ground, but Jiyong is right there to catch him. _

When he wakes up the plane has landed, he is in Singapore.

The air is thick, sticky and humid. Walking around outside feels like swimming and Seungri is grateful for the air-conditioned car. He watches as they zip past wide streets that appear almost European in the darkness. The high-rises cast shadows over the clusters of palm trees in front of them. Corporate oases. The combination is an odd one and Seungri decides he doesn't like it.

When he arrives at the hotel he almost mistakes Jiyong for T.O.P, with his shockingly aqua hair and the hard line of his mouth. Seungri's first reaction is to laugh. Jiyong doesn't and merely raises an eyebrow behind oversized shades. The others are loitering in the lobby, flipping through magazines and swinging their legs.

Daesung is pleased to see his dongsaeng. "We're waiting for Seunghyun," he chirps. Beside him, Youngbae nods stiffly and adjusts the leather jacket draped around his shoulders.

Seungri sighs. The night will be a long one.

The press conference is over. The next few months are going to be killers – they are scheduled to visit Taiwan, the Phillipines, the States, London. He and his hyungs can kiss goodbye to their freetime for the time being.

He doesn't get much of a chance to talk to the others after that, as they are immediately whisked away to a restaurant deep in the heart of the city center, along with a handful of YG agents and various Singaporean PR reps. They feast on chili crab and Dom Perignon – PSY's recent success is still reverberating throughout YG and the company is anxious to impress.

The ride back to the hotel is a quiet one. Daesung's head lolls onto big Seunghyun's shoulder, and Seunghyun shifts his lanky legs in an uncharacteristic display of tolerance. Youngbae has his eyes closed. Jiyong is right next to Seungri. Seungri can't be sure of it but he is sure Jiyong is watching him from behind his sunglasses. He shudders minutely.

When they arrive, Seungri begins to follow the others towards the glass doors. All he can think of are hot showers and clean sheets. Jiyong puts his hand on his wrist. "Let's take a walk," he says softly.

Seungri looks at him, dismayed. "Jiyong, I'm-"

"Just a nice walk," says Jiyong brightly, loudly.

It is then that Seungri begins to feel frightened.

Youngbae turns to look at them, an eyebrow raised, then slopes off in the direction of the elevators.

Seungri leans against a pillar in the ornate entranceway, more to prop himself up than anything else. Jiyong lights a cigarette and watches Youngbae's retreating back. Seungri watches Jiyong, dread consuming him.

They walk in silence for a while, following the sidewalk around the block. The air is relentless, stifling, even at this hour. Seungri wishes he wasn't wearing his jacket.

Singapore, he realizes, is not worlds away from Tokyo. It has convenience stores and the same groups of white-shirted late night revelers as any major Asian city. The biggest difference he can see is the cleanliness. The streets are spotless to the point of being clinical, even down to the absence of chewing gum tarnish on the pavement.

Beside him, Jiyong takes in his surroundings with forced interest, looking up at the buildings around him as if they fascinate him, humming all the while. He is putting on a show and Seungri realizes that he hates Jiyong in this moment, resents him for the power he has over him and his evident relish of it.

When they get back to the hotel Jiyong merely lights another cigarette and they repeat their circuit around the building. When they reach the entrance again Jiyong heads for the elevator and Seungri has no choice but to follow.

At the 38th floor a deserted rooftop pool and seating area await them. Soft muzak plays just for them, as it should at any decent hotel at three in the morning. Singapore's night sky glimmers around them. Seungri goes over to the pool, takes off his jacket and lays it over a lounge chair. He turns to look at the water. The vast expanse of turquoise matches Jiyong's hair exactly. Jiyong follows suit and removes his jacket as well. He folds it over neatly and places it on a chair a few feet away. He takes his time over such a simple task, and again Seungri has the impression that Jiyong is enjoying this. The resentment returns and he feels a deep burning in his gut.

"So," Jiyong says.

"So," echoes Seungri uncertainly, folding his arms. He checks himself and unfolds them again.

Jiyong is smoking again. "So how was it?" he asks. His tone is light, noncommittal.

Seungri braces himself. "How was what?" he says, guardedly.

"Oh, you know. The nookie. The screwing. The fucking," Jiyong moves a little closer. "The ol' _gaping hole_." He bites out the last sentence with such venom, that Seungri involuntarily takes a step backwards. Jiyong is never crude.

Seungri isn't prepared for this. He doesn't know how to answer. "Um. It was. It was alright," he offers weakly. He hates himself right now.

Jiyong comes another step closer. "Alright isn't good enough, brother," he says quietly. "You don't jeopardize your career for alright. You don't ruin your group's _reputation_ for alright!" His voice raises shrilly at the end.

"It won't be that bad…" Seungri begins, aware of his tone, high and whiny and pathetic. He clears his throat, tries again with a feeble smile. "No one will care in a week-"

Jiyong cuts him off. "You came on her stomach? You threw a towel at her? You fucking _choked_ her? And that actress the week after. What the fuck is wrong with you, Seungri?" He's not holding back now. The azure, cool Jiyong has evaporated for the time being.

Seungri cringes. "Hey, we all know I'm the pervy one, right? The porn addict and all that? Maybe we could just make it a thing…" He trails off. He doesn't know what he's talking about now, he's babbling.

Jiyong closes the distance between them and places his hands on Seungri's shoulders. He looks him dead in the eye. "Seungri, do you have any idea what you've done?"

Seungri doesn't. He watches Jiyong with morbid fascination.

Jiyong looks up, exhales deeply.

"Okay, I want you to imagine that you aren't an idol or anything like that. Okay? You're just a run of the mill Korean guy. Yeah, I know, it's hard right? Especially for someone with an ego like yours. But just humor me and imagine it for a just a little while. You work in an office or something. Yeah, you work in an office.

"So one day you come into your fancy top floor office with a view just like this one. And you see a great big poster of you up on the wall, right by the water cooler. And you know what? You're naked in it. Like, buck naked. You've got nothing on, man. Someone took a picture of you when you were drunk at a party, I don't know. And everyone's walking past and seeing this picture of you with your dong out. And then everyone there starts avoiding you. They're all embarrassed for you, you've been humiliated. Soon you feel guilty for just being in the same room as them and making them all uncomfortable."

Seungri's blood is draining from his face. He feels like he can't breathe properly.

"But then, people start avoiding not just you, but your entire department. They're like, 'Hey, it's that team with the dick guy.' Soon your product or whatever isn't selling so well. No one wants your business. Soon your office is downgraded to the basement. You're not making any money anymore, why do you get the pretty view? And then one day, you're out of a job. On the street. You, your department, your whole company."

Jiyong's eyes narrow. "And that's what you've done to _us_, Seungri. To Daesung, to Seunghyun, to Youngbae. To me." His hands haven't moved from their place on Seungri's shoulders and are hot through his shirt.

Seungri's gaze fixes on the pool beyond Jiyong. The shame creeping over him is only cancelled out by that twinge of fury for his leader, for this whole situation. It had started out a tiny spark but is beginning to flare into something far more damaging.

Jiyong's hands finally drop. "And for what, Seungri? Just for some Jappo pussy? Was it really worth it?"

Something snaps.

"Hey, at least no drugs were involved this time," Seungri drawls.

Jiyong stares at him, eyes wide. But Seungri isn't done.

"At least no one died this time," he says.

He doesn't realize he's been punched until it's already happened. The force of it throws him back against the balcony. He turns, grips the railings and reels, facing downwards. When he opens his eyes the cars are ants, there are no nets to catch him. Something warm rolls down his face and falls down, down, down to the city below. Seungri has a sudden vision of the streets turning red with his blood, of ravenous brickwork teeth lurching out of nowhere to catch a taste of him. He stays like that for a moment, watching the droplets fall, then attempts to tend to his nose with the sleeve of his designer shirt.

Jiyong is at his side in an instant. His movements are neither rough nor gentle as he claps a handkerchief to his nose and straightens Seungri up from his hunched over position, his hand warm on his arm.

They sit on the ground, leaning against the balcony railings, Seungri with the cloth over his nose, Jiyong with a lit cigarette. They don't move for what seems like an eternity. Apart from the muzak and the hum of the traffic, there is quiet.

Jiyong shifts. "Sorry," he says. Seungri looks at him, removes the handkerchief.

"No… I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't know whether he's apologizing for what he said or for having sex with that girl. He decides it is both.

Jiyong fiddles with his sleeves and keeps his eyes down. Seungri realizes that Jiyong is most likely ashamed. He has failed. He lost his cool. He is the leader who hit his bandmate. His eyes have taken on that sad lion look again, the old look. It hits Seungri that Jiyong looks like this when he is simultaneously regretting the past and fretting over the future. It isn't one or the other, it's both. Something powerful clenches at Seungri's heart and his eyes moisten. He doesn't want Jiyong to feel this way. He clears his throat.

"The last person to hit me was Hyunseung," he says.

Jiyong doesn't answer. He inclines his head slightly, swipes at his eyes. Seungri doesn't know what to do. He decides to continue. Anything to fill that awful, awful silence.

"God, I was such an idiot," he says. "I was just sitting there while you guys were cooking all the meat, I didn't even offer to help. I was even asking for more. What a dick. Hyunseung gave me a good smack for it. Hey, maybe I need slamming about now and then. I'm so immature, you know?" He is prattling, he knows he is. He wonders if he is making things worse.

He isn't. Jiyong's mouth twitches at the corner. "Yeah," he says.

Silence again. Ten minutes, go by. Jiyong lights another cigarette. Twenty minutes.

Jiyong puts his cigarette out and looks up. His eyes are tinged red. What a pair, Seungri thinks. Two red-eyed, sweaty boys in their shirtsleeves. Cut from the same cloth.

Jiyong gives a small smile. "You'll be alright," he says. He looks at the starless sky, the city below. He speaks again, louder this time.

"We'll be alright," he says.

When Seungri rises the next day, it's already past 1pm. The sky is mostly cloudy with the occasional burst of light as the sun struggles to break free. He hurries to get ready even though they have nothing scheduled until the evening. He has no interest in sitting around brooding. He ignores an ache in his nose as he brushes his teeth.

At the front desk the receptionist tells him his bandmates are at the pool. He grabs a bottle of mineral water from a vending machine and gingerly ascends to the 38th floor once again.

The others are in the water when he arrives. Youngbae ducks Jiyong under the water with a huge, silly grin on his face. Seungri likes seeing Youngbae like this. There is no trace of piety in the way he plays. He smiles over at them and makes his way to the chairs. He carefully avoids the puddles of water that have sloshed all over the edge of the pool.

"Yah, Seungri!" shouts Daesung. "Come in!"

Seungri shakes his head and smiles again. He isn't in the mood. He glances at Jiyong, who is currently playing a childish slapping game with Seunghyun and sniggering like a teenager. It's like last night never happened. It dawns on Seungri that Jiyong's prowess as a leader partly stems from his ability to control his emotions so rigidly. Last night was a freak occurrence. Seungri sits on a chair and starts flicking through his iPod.

Jiyong clambers out of the water and approaches him, still breathless from his antics. "You could at least put on your swimstuff," he says, wiping droplets from his face.

Seungri decides to comply – he definitely doesn't want to make any kind of trouble with Jiyong for a long while. He quickly goes to change into his swimwear and returns. He doesn't want to go in the water, not really anyway. Jiyong is lazing on one of the lounge chairs, his arms behind his head.

As Seungri comes closer to the pool Seunghyun swipes at his ankles and he totters briefly, cursing. Daesung cackles and Seungri retreats, scandalized. He sits next to Jiyong and gazes at the hazy skyline. The sun has escaped from its cloud cover and reveals the city for what it really is – a mass of polygonal shapes, devoid of color, a corporate, grown up world that Seungri is yet to infiltrate or fully understand.

Seungri says, "What do we do now?"

Jiyong doesn't speak for a while. "We enjoy the view," he says eventually.

They stay like that for a little longer before Seungri decides to brave the pool. He skids on a wet patch, but before he has time to yelp a steadying hand grabs his arm.

And then he's in the vibrant azure, laughing and jostling with the others and spitting water in their faces. Just like old times.

If there is a tower on the horizon, he is too preoccupied to look for it.


End file.
